


Blank White Page

by palettesofrenaissance



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (or do they?), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Amnesia, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Coma, F/M, It's a little bit of both, Love Confessions, Memory Loss, Slightly - Freeform, because one lost their memory so now they must fall back in love., one of my guilty pleasures is a "re-meet", quite trope-y kinda sorta not really, thorkyrie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29688843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palettesofrenaissance/pseuds/palettesofrenaissance
Summary: After an accident after a diplomatic meeting goes wrong, Valkyrie falls into a coma. It's before Thor had been able to admit his feelings for her. During the time she's under, Thor doesn't leave her bedside and grapples at his own insecurity. But just when he things he's able to make amends, Valkyrie looks at him with a fresh pair of eyes because, to her, their history is blank.
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





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**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Hi!
> 
> 2\. I haven't written fic in what feels like such a long time
> 
> 3\. this is something that was posted as a short fic on my blog but I liked it so much I edited it (proofread it) and posted the version here which I think is much better
> 
> 4\. I am exhausted like you might be but writing is one of the few things that bring me joy right now so
> 
> 5\. I hope you enjoy this
> 
> 6\. the original prompt that inspired this was: "It takes a near death experience for these two adorable idiots to realize their feelings for one another."
> 
> xoxox

There isn’t a recorded scripture or manual about what to do following Ragnarök: there are preserved writings about the world becoming anew once again, but there isn’t a foretelling about a _second ending of the world_.

Former king of Asgard, Thor Odinson, cradles the nape of his Valkyrie’s neck in his bruised hand. His Valkyrie, Brunnhilde, lies limp with her shoulders in his lap. Her temple is covered in a stream of blood that steadily trickles down and coloring Thor’s fingers. She hasn’t been knocked out for an hour yet but Thor shields her body with his and preys just the same.

What had been just another battle—fighting what both are very skilled at, stemming from diplomacy he’s admittedly partially familiar with—until he looks several feet across the battlefield, expecting to see his love blazing and fighting strong but instead looks in time to catch her falling limp to the ground... And then she disappears.

Thor had abandoned his position then to search for her within the sharp, blood-rusted clashing metal and screams of the wounded. By the time he finds her, she’s unresponsive.

* * *

Midgard medical practices can only do so much for super-durable people from another realm.

Valkyrie is connected to an EKG, to a heart monitor, an IV drip bag, and various other tubes, beeping machines, and whirling ventilators which he isn’t told the names of. In addition, surviving Asgardian practitioners travel to performed spells and treatments and remedies in hopes it would wake Brunnhilde, but to no avail. She lies motionless, swaddled in rough Midgard blankets and in freezingly chilled, sterile rooms.

All the time, Thor stays at her side, watching, waiting, praying under his breath with clenched fists pressed to his lips. A charm necklace—a gift he’d given—rests on her breasts. His thumb rolls over his thick royal ring.

At least she’s able to breathe on her own, he’s thankful.

* * *

The days turned into weeks; Asgardian practitioners visit and try more methods, each one older than the last. Once, they think they made a breakthrough, Brunnhilde’s finger lifting on its own, but still she doesn’t wake.

Weeks turn into half a year; Thor becomes a regular, all the staff knowing his face and presence and soon all know his name.

Time becoming a string of long buzzing ambience and the sunsets and rises feeling like a blink in time. The flowers gifted by friends and comrades wilts and fade and turn to mush before finally being trashed then replaced by new ones. Bruce Banner is the first to visit the facility and he gives Thor one long look-over before wrapping an arm around the other. On his second visit, he brings Scott Lang—a tag-along on pure curiosity—who does his best to give condolence and advice. Other visitors include various agents of the rebranded S.H.I.E.L.D. but they never stay, most patrols for security. Heimdall is the only other constant visitor.

Brunnhilde doesn’t have many friends here.

Once, after word is whispered about, Tony Stark asks with vitriol and a glass of gasoline-smelling liquid why doesn’t Thor “just find a lovelier, bustier woman—Midgard or not. After all you’re a king, right? You could have almost any woman you want.”

Thor doesn’t have the energy to pick him up by the throat again but his eyes flash a threatening, dangerous blue that create static in the closed space and burns edges of Tony’s mustache and breaks his advanced tech watch, reminding the arrogant man that Thor is still an otherworldly being.

Thor’s goatee grows into a small beard in time of the constant visits, spending days and nights at the top-secret medical facility. His hair reaches from his ears to the nape of his neck and then past his shoulders when Hanukkah rolls around once more. He stays by Brunnhilde’s bed, flipping through television channels or flipping through a book or fiddling with the contraption called a “tablet.” He talks to her when he combs her hair out every day, creates conversations as he runs damp sponges or washcloths over her, kisses her healed wounds and begs in a whisper against her brown skin for her to wake up. That she’s missed. That she’s loved, horrendously regretful that he never told her to her face, trying and failing to hold in tears of his own.

Thor runs into Dr. Helen Cho—she gives her best wishes when she sees him in passing, visiting for a conference, and afterwards, they catch up. Before parting to disappear among the regular folk, she slides a napkin with a name and number written to a psychologist, one among others who have worked with superpowers—patients including Ben Grimm, Wanda Maximov, Tandy Bowen, Bucky Barnes, and Ava Starr. She asks if he would rather go see the specialist who worked with some he knows—with Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Daisy Johnson—those whose top security has been government-insured at one point in time. Thor shakes his head; he doesn’t verbalize it, but he’s much more comfortable with the first.

And, money isn’t an issue, Thor finds out—Thor’s _thankful_ about—the psychologist funded by a secret but secure source.

At first, Thor feels a disconnect: this fragile, short-living Midgardian doesn’t have any idea of what a longevity being—one who used to be a _king,_ at that—like him could know about his life, about loss; all that’s known of his kind are _stories, myths_ and _legends_.

When the mighty god walks into the room, the air pops and there’s a slight crackle and he moves like he doesn’t quite _belong_ with the way the atoms and molecules naturally interact; the psychologist is immediately taken aback, the grand, imposing, unearthly man holding true to the stories in size and aura.

* * *

Therapy is...

It’s _interesting_ , that’s for sure.

And long overdue. There’s a lot of pint-up feelings and thoughts that’s unearths.

In addition, Thor takes two months making amends for the lightning-singed hole burned through the ceiling.

* * *

In the second year of his sessions, Thor continues talking to his beloved as if she could hear him. He now trims his hair, consistently cleans himself up. He doesn’t bring her flowers and instead always keeps a thumb to the pulse point on the inside of her wrist. His brother pokes his head in the room less to check on Thor’s wellbeing, but there are the occasion days when he fears Brunnhilde will never awake and Loki lays a hand on his brother’s shoulder and reminds that she hasn’t been taken to Valhalla yet.

Thor’s visits to the psychologist become regular. He asks if the load of patients is overwhelming on the professional end. He’s answered that it _is_ heavy but a very fulfilling job. At the ending, Thor’s caught off guard at finding both Bruce Banner and Peter Parker in the lobby waiting for their own appointments and nitpicking about who convinced whom to _finally_ come.

Thor attends therapy for the first time, ever, and part of it helps muster up the courage to face his deep, tragic crush.

* * *

At the end of the second year, Brunnhilde awakes. Her hair is longer and needs a deep wash, and she’s _cranky_ —rightfully, it being familiar and joyous to Thor regardless—and she’s groggy, delirious, and Thor holds her face in his hand, a second away from crying tears of joy, standing from the chair at her bedside. But instead of a returning hug or a quip about each other, she’s stoic.

Brunnhilde comes out of her coma and stares at Thor with impassivity—initially, not knowing where she is and confused about his changed appearance.

(She calls him _king_. No name.)

He embraces her in a hug, peppering her hair and face with kisses, exclaiming how he missed her so. Then, he sits, takes her hand in his and declares that there is something he must tell her _now_ , lest he never have a chance to again and regret it further: Thor admits his crush on Brunnhilde blossomed into full-fledged love years before her misfortune and he be _damned_ if she lives longer without knowing it.

But...she doesn’t give the desired reaction, blinking in silent shock and straightened posture, noticeably blushing.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m just,” she croaks, needing water. After emptying a cup in seconds, she tries again. “I’m just startled about where that came from.”

“You’ve been in a coma for two years,” he explains, eyes burning, kissing the back of her hand before cradling it to his cheek enduringly.

She blinks. “Two years...” There’s a goldfish in a bowl on her bedside which Thor makes sure to feed every visit and clean every other visit. It’s a gift for her to wake up to if he happened to not be there. “But the last thing I remember—”

“Was the battlefield,” he finishes. “I know.”

“No,” she frowns, squinting. “It’s eight seasons after Hela befell Asgard.”

Thor’s face falls. First there’s intense confusion, but then reading her growing defensiveness, he realizes and body turns to stone, his blood freezing in his veins.

Brunnhilde’s wide brown eyes gain a fire behind them. She sits up, squeezing Thor’s hands in retaliation, slowly overpowering him at this imbalanced angle. “In fact, you look _just like_ the tyrant Odin king—eye patch and all.”

Thor winces at her grip, it miraculously still strong somewhat after all this time.

“You’re Odin’s heir, aren’t you?” Her voice gradually rises and hardens. “The spawn following Hela?”

The monitors beep in alarm. She looms over him from his seat in the guest chair, her bed higher. Thor raises his free hand in innocence, wincing as she slowly bends his fist backwards.

“Brunnhilde, wait—!” he tries, but she’s already yanked the cords from her arm, has risen from the bed, and is smashing the fish bowl to the floor to retrieve a long glass shard created from its rim which she clutches in defense, jagged edge pointed at him in warning.

(Brunnhilde has trained for decades in many ways of combat. She’s been a Valkyrie and fought in battles and snuck behind enemy lines for centuries longer.)

(She’s reverberated to her state of mind not long after fleeing Hela’s murder of her fleet.)

Thor raises his free hand to his face in defense, face beginning to redden from rushing blood.

Down the polished tile floors of the facility, hordes of sneakers are already speeding towards the room.

“You will lead me out of this place—safely—and I _might_ spare your bloodline. Make it good, too. I am no longer a Valkyrie to Asgard.”

“ _Brunnhilde, please_ —there is an easy explanation!”

As nurses run into the room, Thor throws up his free hand, shouting for them to not come in.

He’s too late.

The glass shard in her hand flies.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I plan on writing more for thorkyrie
> 
> 2\. especially if I receive prompts! ([please send me some!](https://palettesofrenaissance.tumblr.com/ask/))
> 
> 3\. if this story here is liked enough, and you tell me what you would like to see next, I am open on expanding this


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